


Working up to the Semester

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [31]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-31
Updated: 2004-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Classes are around the corner...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working up to the Semester

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For Alex, my friend and beta.

Ian prowled the front left quadrant of the auditorium; he and three teaching assistants, including Siria and Gary, were proctoring the placement test for five hundred incoming first-years. They would be sorted into basic skills, intermediate, or advanced courses according to their scores.

The room managed to be over air-conditioned yet stuffy, the smell of sweat, graphite, vending machine 'food', and coffee permeating the air. The students had the earnest expressions they wore the first few weeks of class, before they became seasoned veterans.

Already, Ian had been asked questions by three people, although they'd been told not to request extra help at the start. Professor Prentice was a man who projected caring and concern. He didn't give any hints, but reduced their anxiety by his friendliness.

Ian confiscated a miniature dictionary and some notes early on, but after that, things settled down and he was able to spare part of his attention to consider the book list he was assembling for 2005. He had to come up with three solid choices for Intro Lit by next week's meeting.

He'd wanted to include Hesse's Magister Ludi, but the book's length argued against it. In the survey courses, they wanted to cover as much ground as possible, so would be likelier to use Bartleby the Scrivener for a taste of Melville than the more ambitious Moby-Dick.

Perhaps Narcissus and Goldmund, then. Relatively short, and accessible to the students with its contrast of scholarly asceticism and carefree sensuality. Ian would always associate the book with his first semester at Jedai University, where he had spent drowsy afternoons reading it in the gardens.

Since meeting Quinn, he'd become aware of a more personal application, casting himself as the hedonistic Goldmund and Quinn as the erudite, monastic Narcissus.

Ian mulled it over throughout the exam.

* * *

Quinn grinned up from his laptop when Ian returned to their office that afternoon. "How did the proctoring go, lad?"

Ian went straight for his chair after being on his feet the whole morning. "No problem, after I nipped some cheating in the bud."

"Hovering over them seems to work for me," Quinn said wryly.

"I can see that it would." Ian smiled. "My history professor at Jedai put a stop to cheating in a way I'll never forget. We each were allowed to bring one 3" x 5" index card to exams. He figured that at least we'd learn something by distilling our notes. A friend of mine showed up with a 5" x 7" card. What do you think the professor did?"

Quinn's eyes shone in anticipation. "Confiscated it?"

"Nah, that would have been too easy." Ian paused for effect. "He tore it in half, so that the questions were on one side, and the answers were on the part he kept. Everyone laughed for a solid five minutes, even my friend."

Quinn groaned in sympathy. "Now that's harsh."

"But effective. No one ever cheated in his class after that." Ian's tone bespoke satisfaction.

Suppressing a yawn, Quinn said, "I don't doubt it."

"You've been cooped up in here all day. How about some coffee with our work, my treat?" Ian's smile was irresistible.

"You're on."

* * *

The tapping wove its way into Ian's reverie. He and Quinn sat at a sidewalk table outside a local cafe, drinking iced mocha lattes and reviewing committee work on their laptops. Ian was savoring the unseasonably cool temperature of 65 at the moment, rather than concentrating on his assignment.

Quinn started typing again; he was composing questions for the qualifying exam coming up in two weeks. These essays would determine entrance into the doctoral program. Last year, he'd had to recuse himself from the committee, since Danny Walker had been one of the candidates.

When Danny had passed, Ian and Quinn had been able to move into high gear with his dissertation. Danny was now more than three-quarters through that all-important document. It still needed extensive revision and a complete check of the footnotes, but Quinn could tell it was a keeper.

The qualifying exam took place a week before the semester started on September 7th, since Labor Day was a bit late this year. Quinn had to compose six essay questions for the exam, four of which would be used.

Ian did not sit on this committee with Quinn, since he hadn't met two of the requirements for it: he was not tenured, and he didn't teach a graduate course. Quinn was looking forward to three years hence, when he might have Ian's bright presence by his side.

Truth to tell, Ian would rather have been there as well. He and the five other people on the textbook committee had vastly disparate opinions of what constituted a balanced curriculum; in fact, Ian suspected that was why Case had chosen them.

The diplomatic training Quinn had given Ian had stood him in good stead amidst the constant wrangles. He'd bitten his lips to raspberry fullness in order to quell caustic remarks, a sight which Quinn quietly appreciated back in their office. Once Quinn had even brushed the bow of his upper lip with a fingertip in passing.

Engrossed in his work, Quinn started when he heard the beep of an instant message. His lips quirked as he read it.

'There's a cute guy at the cafe I'm trying to chat up, but he won't give me the time of day.'

Quinn smiled up at Ian, who was sipping his latte innocently, and tapped in his answer.

'He must need to have his eyes checked.'

Ian grinned as he continued their silent conversation.

'He doesn't wear glasses, but probably has eyestrain from typing all afternoon.'

Quinn squinted unconvincingly, earning a chuckle from Ian, and wrote back.

'So what would you suggest?'

Ian needed no time whatsoever to formulate a response to this.

'How about heading home now?'

Quinn answered him by shutting down the laptop, stowing it in his briefcase, and bussing his mug, while Ian did the same.

The men made it home in record time, what with Quinn's rangy stride and Ian's ease at pacing him. They dropped their briefcases where they stood. Quinn held Ian up against the door with one hand warm on his chest, while he locked it with the other.

After a kiss that virtually guaranteed an incoherent answer, Quinn asked hoarsely, "What on Earth made you think of messaging me when I was right there?"

"This," Ian growled, panting into Quinn's mouth.

As they shed their clothes in the entranceway, Ian was busily thinking of new ways to put their laptops to use.


End file.
